For Drew, nothing is written

On the mend from gender reassignment surgery, Drew approaches the next chapter as an open book

Updated 1:28 pm, Thursday, December 8, 2011

Drew Cordes of Albany, right, meets up with friends Aela Mass, left, and Alyssa Hackett on May 25, 2011, at Washington Park in Albany, N.Y. Drew, who's been transitioning from a man to a woman for seven years, was trying to keep mind off her upcoming gender-reassignment surgery. (Cindy Schultz / Times Union)

Drew Cordes of Albany, right, meets up with friends Aela Mass,...

Drew Cordes is a 29-year-old transgender woman living in Albany. With the support of her parents, the former standout boys' athlete at Glens Falls H.S. underwent gender reassignment surgery in Montreal.
/ Times Union

Drew Cordes of Albany on May 25, 2011, in Albany, N.Y. Drew has been transitioning from a man to a woman for seven years and was preparing for gender-reassignment surgery. (Cindy Schultz / Times Union)

Drew Cordes of Albany on May 25, 2011, in Albany, N.Y. Drew has...

Drew Cordes, who's been transitioning from a man to a woman for seven years, talks about her upcoming gender-reassignment surgery on May 25, 2011, at her home in Albany, N.Y. (Cindy Schultz / Times Union)

Drew Cordes, who's been transitioning from a man to a woman for...

Drew Cordes displays her jewelry on May 25, 2011, at her home in Albany, N.Y. Drew said the jewelry was gifts from loved ones since she first began living as a woman. (Cindy Schultz / Times Union)

Drew Cordes displays her jewelry on May 25, 2011, at her home in...

Drew Cordes stays at her parents' home as she recovers from surgery on Tuesday, June 21, 2011, in Glens Falls, N.Y. (Cindy Schultz / Times Union)

Drew Cordes stays at her parents' home as she recovers from surgery...

Drew Cordes, center, watches with amusement as her mother, Janet, right, shows an old photo album to her friend Melissa Mangino on Tuesday, June 21, 2011, at her parents' home in Glens Falls, N.Y. (Cindy Schultz / Times Union)

Drew Cordes, center, watches with amusement as her mother, Janet,...

Drew Cordes, right, leafs through an old journal with her mother, Janet, center, and friend Melissa Mangino on Tuesday, June 21, 2011, at her parents' home in Glens Falls, N.Y. (Cindy Schultz / Times Union)

Drew Cordes, right, leafs through an old journal with her mother,...

Drew Cordes talks about all the prescription drugs she has to take on Tuesday, June 21, 2011, at her parents' home in Glens Falls, N.Y. (Cindy Schultz / Times Union)

Drew Cordes talks about all the prescription drugs she has to take...

Drew Cordes strums the guitar on Tuesday, June 21, 2011, at her parents' home in Glens Falls, N.Y. (Cindy Schultz / Times Union)

Drew Cordes strums the guitar on Tuesday, June 21, 2011, at her...

Drew Cordes sits on the porch with her mother, Janet, and strums the guitar on Tuesday, June 21, 2011, at her parents' home in Glens Falls, N.Y. (Cindy Schultz / Times Union)

Drew Cordes, center, takes part in Transgender Day of Remembrance on Sunday, Nov. 20, 2011, at First Unitarian Universalist Society in Albany, N.Y. The event featured speakers and a candlelight vigil for those who've been murdered because they were transgender. At right is Jasan Ward of In Our Own Voices. (Cindy Schultz / Times Union)

Drew Cordes, center, takes part in Transgender Day of Remembrance...

Drew Cordes in sixth grade, student of the month picture.

(Cindy Schultz)

Drew Cordes in sixth grade, student of the month picture.

Photograph of Drew Cordes, left, with his date for a high school prom.

(Cindy Schultz)

Photograph of Drew Cordes, left, with his date for a high school prom.

Family portrait of Drew Cordes, center, with his parents, Janet and John.

(Cindy Schultz)

Family portrait of Drew Cordes, center, with his parents, Janet and...

This is the final installment in a three-part series on Drew's journey. Click to read Part I and Part II.

GLENS FALLS — Drew Cordes lowered herself into an easy chair in her parents' living room in a slow-motion descent and emitted a sharp grunt after completing the simple act of sitting down.

She had gradually progressed beyond "the Montreal shuffle" following gender reassignment surgery three weeks earlier and was now walking upright, although slightly stooped.

It was the sitting down part that jabbed fresh fingers of pain.

Even the parting gift from the Canadians was small comfort: an inflatable doughnut to ease the ache of sitting in a chair after transgender surgery.

"At least I'm not crawling around like a crab anymore," Drew said. "The muscles are still in shock after surgery, and the bruising is terrible."

She had tapered off painkillers, posting frequent Facebook updates the first few days after surgery extolling the effectiveness of Oxycodone.

"Oxy, you my only friend," she wrote in a profanity-laced description of the painful recovery.

She crossed a plateau of pain after one week and experienced a gradual decline in discomfort, although she has felt occasional phantom pain over parts removed or re-positioned.

"They come as very odd pangs in a spot that doesn't exist anymore," she said. "My urethra is now inverted and in a different place, so the mind tries to re-connect the nervous system, while it sparks and frazzles."

On this day, when her spirits were low, Cordes welcomed a visit a friend from Melissa Mangino. They're part of a group of friends who live in Albany's Center Square neighborhood and who meet regularly for drinks at DeJohn's on Lark Street.

"We've all been supportive of surgery for Drew, but we had a lot of questions about what it would be like going through it," Mangino said.

"The answer is not fun," Drew said.

Still, Drew does not shy away from discussing the surgery and other elements of transitioning from a man to a woman in hopes of demystifying the little-studied and marginally understood condition known as gender dysphoria — unhappiness with one's biological sex or its usual gender role, with the desire for the body and role of the opposite sex.

"Most people have no idea what the surgery is all about and they think the surgeon makes you a eunuch or something," Drew said.

*****

The 29-year-old writer and editor was at a rare loss for words in trying to articulate what she felt, having completed a long, arduous journey of changing genders that spanned a quarter-century.

One of the earliest moments when she became conscious of the gender dysphoria within was when she was 4 years old, walked into a friend's house and watched — utterly transfixed — as the boy's older sister twirled around a room in a lovely summer dress.

"It was one of the first instances where my leanings manifested themselves. I caught on at a very young age that I was not supposed to want feminine things," Drew said. "Not because my parents taught me that way, but it was what I gleaned from school, from watching TV and from the culture all around me."

Drew entered the stormy period of adolescence with an unusual degree of confusion and shame and tried to bury those embarrassing feelings of longing to be a girl in a blur of boys' sports, competition and maleness.

Drew's parents, who are open-minded and liberal, were nonetheless shocked when their only child, a son, came out as gay as a teenager and later as transgender. They recalled there were no indications or stereotypical trans behaviors such as Drew's wanting to play with dolls or dress in girls' clothes. Their son was extremely masculine and he grew into a guy's guy, with an athlete's powerful build, bearded and ruggedly handsome.

When Drew went away to college, however, to pursue a degree in English at Vassar, a deeper exploration of self-discovery began.

"Vassar is like a queer Disney World," Drew recalled. "It's very progressive, tolerant and queer and I loved it there."

Even at Vassar, though, Drew remained in denial and could not come to terms with her gender discordance. The gay male she presented in public masked an inner torment. Cross-dressing in private led to tentative forays of going out in public as a woman. She endured taunts and harassment and periods of depression before beginning counseling and coming out at age 24 to her parents and friends as a transgender female. Her transition over the past seven years has cost tens of thousands of dollars and has been a physically painful and emotionally challenging marathon of counseling, hormone therapy, facial reconstruction, electrolysis, voice modification and gradually learning how to live as a woman.

And now, three weeks after gender reassignment surgery, it seemed like an opportunity to put her transition into context. "The surgery is both more important and less important than people think it is," Drew said. "It almost feels like an anti-climax at this point. I've gone through so many difficult things and have lived so long wanting this, it can't possibly live up to all the weight that's been placed on it."

She added, "When I was leaving Montreal and the nurse said, 'Enjoy your new life,' I just wanted to laugh. This is just one more necessary step. My facial surgery that allowed me to pass as a female was crucial. Obviously, I felt this was important enough to do it. Every step has made my life better. This just isn't the end-all and be-all. I still have a lot of work to do in becoming a woman."

*****

This summer, back living with her parents during her recovery after surgery in their home, was a strange experience for Drew and for her empty-nest mother and father, too.

Her mother dug out of a bedroom closet old photo albums and offered a visual tour of her only child's life. She cooed with a maternal pride over her cute little boy and the typical shots: learning to walk at 8 months, first birthday, dressed up (as a devil) on Halloween, riding in a red wagon and endless action photos from Drew competing on soccer fields, tennis courts and basketball gymnasiums.

There were also dozens of yellowed newspaper clippings from the Glens Falls Post-Star that chronicled Drew's high school athletic achievements that a grandmother had dutifully clipped and placed in an album.

There was a wistfulness as Janet Cordes flipped through the past and looked back on the son who was now a woman. Her mother dabbed a tissue to a moist eye while looking at images again of her child who, unbeknownst at the time to her or her husband, was growing up in a state of gender confusion and inner turmoil.

Drew's gender transition has been an adjustment for her parents, as well. They have responded with unconditional love and support, along with efforts to educate themselves about transgender issues.

"I find that she's more at ease than before," her mom said. "She's more open and comfortable in her own skin."

As they sat in her parents' living room, Drew and her mother joked over the photo album Drew dubbed "awkward high school photos" and the subsequent "rugged college photos."

Drew looked slightly uncomfortable, but made no effort to conceal the images of her male past. "Some trans people don't want pictures of themselves from before, but that's still me," she said, pointing to a picture of Drew as a college-aged man, holding a can of beer, shirtless and in swim trunks, standing waist-deep in a lake with two other guys.

"I'm not going to deny that's me," Drew said. "That was my life. Why would I try to cover that up?"

Drew's mom found an old sketchbook from Drew's art class in senior year at Glens Falls High School. It's filled with charcoal self-portraits that emanate angst, along with scratchy abstracts and a collage of broken guitar strings.

"There's a lot of anger coming out in these," Drew's mother said.

"Oh, yeah, I was angry," Drew said.

It's a warm and inviting early-summer evening and Drew and her mother sat side by side on the front porch of her parents' elegant Craftsman-style house, set back on a quiet side street.

Drew was dressed for comfort in gray Capri sweatpants and a white tank top. She strummed a black Takamine acoustic guitar and played a few blues riffs.

"It's so nice to hear Drew's guitar in the house again," her mom said.

At her mother's request, she picked out "Blackbird" on the six-string.

Drew rolled her eyes at the Beatles song. It's the kind of sentimental tune she despises. She prefers hard-edged, multilayered songs that make you think rather than simple melodies for humming along.

Drew drew the line when she was asked to sing "Blackbird," although her mom softly whispered the lyrics to the first verse of her favorite song:

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night.

"Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

"All your life.

"You were only waiting for this moment to arise."

*****

By early August, Drew's recovery had progressed to the point that she was beginning to play tennis again. We made a date to meet at the Washington Park courts in Albany.

She chased down shots, fired crisp forehands and cross-court backhands with an athletic grace. Nobody looked twice — not the sweaty, shirtless men playing pickup basketball or the pierced, tattooed teen skateboarders in black who worked on their tricks nearby — at the tall, willowy woman in gray shorts and white tank top, her shoulder-length red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was "passing" in trans lingo, while hitting passing shots.

It was obvious from the pace of her ground strokes and court savvy that she had been a great player back in high school. But she took it easy on a middle-aged man slow of foot. She said she still had some soreness from surgery and was out of shape and out of practice because of the long recovery.

She missed a volley and cursed loudly. "I just can't move the way I used to," she said, as we paused at the net to drink from our water bottles. "Hormones and surgery has changed my body so much. I've lost a lot of muscle mass."

As dusk fell, we walked the few blocks back to her apartment and talked more about the aftermath of gender reassignment surgery.

In her book-lined living room, the discussion inevitably got around to literature. Drew used the downtime of her recovery in Glens Falls to finish reading all 1,100 pages of Dostoevsky's "The Brothers Karamazov." She also read Vladimir Nabokov's "The Enchanter," a precursor to "Lolita." Challenging, cerebral fiction has long been one of her great pleasures.

She has not had a long-term relationship as a transgender woman or, for that matter, when she lived as a man during college or the years after. A love of highbrow literature is a quality she hopes for in a mate.

"I haven't found the right person," said Drew, who describes her sexuality as fluid. "Whoever it turns out to be will be smart. I'm attracted to intelligence."

She added, "I've come to like the vagueness of the term queer. "I reject the hetero-normative standard or the gender binary. I like that queer covers a lot of people. It's a reclamation word."

She described her most recent attraction to a "butch, androgynous, gender queer, female-born individual."

The confusion registered on my face. "Sex should be fun. Why make it all serious and lock it into just one box?" she asked. "In terms of getting married, yes, I'd like to get married one day. The odds at this point favor a man."

Drew said she rebuffed the advice of a doctor, who suggested she might want to freeze sperm before gender reassignment surgery. She said she has never been fond of small children, not before and not after surgery, and had no intention of producing an offspring. "If I do want kids at some point, I'd rather adopt than contribute to the world's burgeoning over-population problem," she said.

We had exhausted the subject. Drew turned on the TV and put in a DVD of her favorite movie, "Lawrence of Arabia." She watched the 1962 David Lean epic in Montreal, before and after surgery. It has always been a source of comfort. She has memorized all the scenes and many of the lines after seeing it dozens of times. She savors the great artistry of the classic film, particularly its delicate exploration of gender themes.

She fast-forwarded to a pivotal scene when Lawrence crosses the desert alone to rescue a man who'd been left behind to die because the Arabs decided his fate was "written." Upon his successful return to camp with the would-be dead man, Lawrence turns to the Arab leader Sherif Ali and delivers one of the great lines of cinematic history: "Nothing is written!"

Drew rewound it and played it again.

"It's that great moment of triumph over fate and writing your own story over what it's supposed to be," she said. "To me, it's a movie that illuminates the successes and failures of forging your own identity."

She turned around, raised her tank top and showed me a tattoo on her lower back. She had recently gotten it at Lark Tattoo, one of her first acts after convalescing at her parent's home and returning to live in her own apartment in Albany. The tattoo represented a ritual of closure to her journey.